“Well, this is a little weird,” Miss8 mumbled to me.
She wasn’t happy.
“Don’t even think about complaining,” I told her as I made a mental note to avoid biting my nails until I got home. “I’m not exactly thrilled myself.”
In fact, I brought up my lack of thrill with my wife a few minutes later via a series of texts.
You. Bitch. I typed. I separated the words with a full stop because I thought bitch deserved a capital. Then I got to the crux of the matter. You knew!
Poor Miss8 has been having a bit of a time of it lately. Despite grumbling her way through meals which are both gluten & lactose free, she’s continued to complain of stomach pains.
As anyone who’s followed our family’s story the last few years would understand, we don’t ignore stomach pains around here. Neither does our doctor.
Which meant Tracey and Miss8 arrived home from an appointment with a list of tests which needed doing immediately.
“She’s got an ultrasound and X-ray in half an hour,” Tracey explained, tossing the car keys to me. “And she needs to get a blood test done before then.”
When I began to question why she’d come home instead of going straight there, my wife explained she had clients to contact for some shoots on the weekend and I was only, near as she could make out, buggerising around with a measuring tape.
I only let her get away with that snipe because she was totally right about me currently doing stuff all.
That, and I’m scared of her hiding all the sex.
But fifteen minutes later, as I knelt in front of a toilet trying to fill a thimble with my daughter’s mid-stream pee, I suspected the reason I’d been sent to do this was something other than work related.
“Blood test,” I quoted back at Tracey, punching the words into my phone with as much distain as I could muster. I followed this up with a line I’ve gleaned from Judge Judy. Lying by omission is still lying.
Tracey, as you’d expect, was all sympathy and apologies. Although rather tellingly, without me spelling it out she knew exactly what I was I might be a bit pissed about. Pun intended.
Haa haa, she texted back. Oh shit. Urine! I forgot.
Did you though, Tracey? Did you really?
Raising a family on little more than laughs
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